


Of All The Gin Joints In The World

by cheesehunter



Series: One Shots [6]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Exes, Getting Back Together, JUST, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Past Relationship(s), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Rough Sex, Sex, Smut, its a little bit sad, its porn, maybe? i guess?, read it, sorta but not rlly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 01:00:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16483070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheesehunter/pseuds/cheesehunter
Summary: Pete knows one night won't be enough, it will never, but he can't settle for less and can't ask for more.





	Of All The Gin Joints In The World

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Howdy motherfuckers. I didn’t feel like updating the fic. Here’s mindpuke. It’s not spooky,,,, wotever.
> 
> enjoii. tell me if anything needs to be tagged ?? but,..... doubt so.... but tell me

Leaving was easy. No, scratch that, leaving Pete was easy. Surprisingly easy, even. Building himself back? Not so much. It took him five years, five years and tons, tons of trial and error. Many times, he caught himself on the edge of the precipice, finger almost – almost – on the “call” button, but he took a deep breath and walked around, finding the nearest bridge. Admittedly, there were things he had to let go of, things he hadn’t touched in a long time. They lay abandoned in the depths of his mind, dusty and semi-forgotten in the dark.

 

Now Patrick was a whole new person, someone of his own, chin up and shoulders relaxed and wide grins and nothing like the sweaty-handed, crazy-eyed, stutter-and-mutter boy he once was.

 

Until he saw the other male, that is. Until he saw him again, sitting there on a stool, his elbows atop the bar’s counter, slightly leaned back. His face was a pale blue from the weird lighting, eyes glimmering slightly and, by his posture, Patrick supposed he couldn’t have drank too much. Yet. The blonde’s shoulders tensed up and he glanced over his shoulder at the door. It wouldn’t be fair to leave his friends here, but he also sort of really didn’t want to be breathing the same air as Pete right now. He knew what the other was doing, he knew exactly.

 

“ _So, what do you like doing? Like, uh, in life, what are the things… you know?”_

 

“ _Well, I like kissing pretty boys, and you just happen to be one of those.”_

 

_Orange juice. Cranberry juice._

 

Patrick slid his body between the sweat of two others, reaching for his friend’s shoulder. “Wait up man, you know I can’t keep up!” He whined, trying to go over the music, but these places aren’t made for talking.

 

“You don’t need to follow me! Have a good time!” His friend retorted, though it was only out of habit since everyone knew he wasn’t cut out for these things. Patrick opened his mouth to reply, but then decided against it, too lazy to yell again.

 

“ _College?”_

 

“ _Yeah. You’re not in any of my classes, are you?”_

 

“ _No! No. I’m actually trying to make a career out of art. Um, painting and poetry and.. The whole package you see?”_

 

_Peach. Lime. Cherry._

 

Patrick was startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun around on his heels, trying not to hit anyone too hard, which sounds easier than it is.

 

“Heya babe.” The person had long brown hair and lipstick smeared all over their mouth. “Wanna dance?”

 

The blond guy nodded, and then shrugged, and nodded again. “Sure.”

They never meant what they said, and Patrick was aware of it, but he wouldn’t mind, actually. “Dancing”, and then whatever followed.

 

Sure enough, the person kept pressing up to him, rolling their hips, feeling them. Patrick reciprocated the attention, of course, though half-heartedly, his hand on their mid-back.

 

“ _That’s.. what’s that?”_

 

“ _That’s none of your business, come screw..”_

 

_Vodka._

 

Of all the clubs in all the goddamned world… And he was grinding back with determination, yeah, he was, but that’s not what was on his mind when the friction got oh-so-delightful, and god.. not enough all at once. He could feel eyes on his back, observing him, scrutinizing him, and he thought bitterly, “Of all the clubs in the goddamned world, it had to be this one.”

 

“I’m sorry, I think I’ve had too much so excuse me while I go puke my guts out, I’d hate to ruin your shirt.” Patrick lied easily, slipping away again into the ocean of people.

 

Walking fast, he _was_ going towards the washroom (make his story believable, y’know).. But yet another hand intercepted him and, just from the pressure, the way his shoulder was gripped.. He knew. The color drained right out of his body, dripping like wet paint onto the club’s floor. As slowly as he could, he turned around, where surely enough, two obsidian eyes were staring at him with newfound determination.

 

“Can I buy you Sex On The Beach?” It was a shit-eating grin that welcomed his eyes back onto Pete’s face for the first time in half a decade and if that didn’t say what kind of person this asshole was…

 

“No, actually.” The blond replied dryly, a frown on his face. “I don’t take drinks from strangers.”

 

“But we’re no strangers, you and I.” Pete countered, the hint of a smirk still holding onto his lips, eyes playful as he brushed his thumb against Patrick’s cheek.

 

“Really? I didn’t get that memo.” Patrick responded, swatting Pete’s hand away instead of leaning into the touch like the dark haired boy was waiting for him to do so impatiently.

 

“Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

 

“Let’s not.” The blond turned around again, about to walk into the washroom to escape the other when the guy’s voice made yet another breakthrough.

 

“So you no longer fuck strangers?”

 

Patrick’s blood was boiling under his skin. It wasn’t what Pete had said tonight, not any more than any other night, it was the build up and the fact that, wherever he ran, Pete was there somewhere. Because there was Pete in each movie they’d seen cuddled up to each other and there was Pete in each blanket and sweatshirt and maybe the jeans he was wearing currently and most importantly, there was Pete in every single lovesick letter written in squiggly lines, and Patrick just wanted to be left alone.

 

“What’s it take for you to leave already?!”

 

“One night.”

 

The blond considered it. On the upside, he was thinking of sex anyway and with an old friend would be better than a complete stranger, especially since he’d never see him again afterwards, if everything turned out right. On the downside.. He’d have to swallow his pride.

 

“One night.” Patrick responded, with a nod. “Okay. One condition.”

 

“Anything.”

 

“Sober. Completely sober.” The blond responded, almost defiant, challenge in his eyes.

 

Pete seemed to think it over and nodded slowly. “Okay.”

 

“ _It’s called psychedelic art.”_

 

“ _That’s not art! Art is… you. Art reflects who you are! That’s not like you!”_

 

It took under five minutes returning to the dancefloor, and twenty to reach the car. Patrick had forgotten just how well their bodies fit together, though he supposed Pete’s body could fit anyone’s. He squirmed uncomfortably on the seat as they drove back to the dark haired man’s, letting out little gasps every now and again, overdoing it a bit just to get the other worked up.

 

It was a question of who could tease who and how long that could go on.

 

He was manhandled into the residency, showing no resistance whatsoever and soon he was the one being rough, kissing Pete like he’d die if their lips ever came apart, his teeth sinking into the other male’s lips, which drew a yelp from the man in question. Patrick found himself pressing his ex against the wall with rage, almost, found himself a pair of hands holding onto his hips as he left his marks onto Pete’s neck.

 

“I know why you come back every time, Pete. You think I’m real stupid, but I know.”

 

Pete allowed his body to be shoved onto the bed, looking up at Patrick through half-lid eyes as he lowered himself to trail kisses down his torso, grinding down onto the man still, grinding painfully slow. This was all just a big test, wasn’t it?

 

“None of them tie you up, do they? None of them treat you like the little whore you are, none of them are sick enough. Last time I left I didn’t make it clear enough, it seems, so I’m trying again.”

 

Patrick stopped moving to grab lube and a vibrator from one of the drawers. He knew exactly where everything was, of course, they’d lived together for so long. The process drew a whine from Pete, who lifted his hips up to meet Patrick’s, desperately trying to get just a little bit closer to the bliss he so desired.

The blond slammed his hips down onto the mattress with one of his hands, looking straight into the orbs of never ending darkness. “You are going to stay absolutely still unless you want me to walk out and leave you like this.” He threatened, not a hint of sweetness in his voice nor the usual ‘I’m playing’ in his eyes.

 

Pete’s eyes went wide and he gulped, nodding quickly.

 

“Answer me with words.”

 

“Yes, sir. I’ll be good.”

 

“No, no you won’t, you’ve never been. You’re impossible.”

 

Pete hadn’t been prompted to respond, so he kept his mouth shut. This was tearing a hole in his chest, but he figured he deserved it. He was too desperate below the waist to think about above the neck anyway.

 

Patrick took his sweet time prepping him, ignoring the pleas he was too scared to actually formulate, that just came out as broken strings of sound, he was prodded and poked around, much emptier than he’d liked to be, and then, just as he’d suspected, when he was filled up, it was everything but what he wanted. It was something nonetheless. Patrick took a step back to admire his masterpiece once he was about done, deciding, in the end, maybe some black leather restraints would go well with the other male’s skin and putting them to good use, and then he just sat on the edge of the bed, waiting.

 

Pete had already been sporting a semi ever since they’d left the club, and now close was an understatement. To be completely fair, he was probably past that, but the vibrator was set so low that he just couldn’t.. reach completion from just that. He needed more, he needed warm and live and close to him and he was desperate for it, his thighs shaking faintly, eyes slightly dazed after only a couple minutes.

 

“Please, please, sir, I need you.” He begged, hoping Patrick would take pity on him, but it only got him a raised eyebrow.

 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m going to take off the restraints and you’re gonna turn around and put your ass up. You cum, it’s over.”

 

Pete nodded in absolute desperation, not thinking it through.

 

As soon as the leather was off, the man moved, and only then, he understood. He couldn’t hold back the loud moan that escaped his lips the moment he’d changed his position. Pete’s voice died on his lips when he tried to beg because almost as soon as he’d turned around, the vibrator was taken out of him, or maybe time just started flowing a different way. Apparently, Patrick had already lubed himself up, and Pete couldn’t tell if two seconds or three minutes had passed in between each thrust inside of him, he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t, not with Patrick whispering those _things_ in his ear, things he hadn’t heard in years… five, to be precise. He didn’t really realize he’d started crying until Patrick wrapped his hand around his cock, giving it a few strokes and for once he was desperate to be good but he _couldn’t_.

 

Pete came all over himself, nerves on fire even as his knees gave out. He felt something hot on his back but was too busy not being in that plane of existence to notice.

Patrick came to the realization he hadn’t made that masterpiece. The more he looked at it, the more it looked like plagiarism. Pete had been beautiful from the very start, beautiful in a very subjective, very artistic sense of the term. The purples and reds he’d added were nothing but that; an addition, and though they embellished the piece for sure, Pete didn’t need them to be beautiful.

 

He got back into the room with a towel and a glass of water only to find a very, very shaky Pete who looked up at him with those wide, fearful eyes and guilt clawed at his heart, though he didn’t know _why_.

 

From the obsidians, clear drops of salty water rolled slowly, adding shine to the picture. Patrick knew exactly what he’d done wrong.

 

Seeing Patrick again seemed to make the flood worse up north.

 

“I-I thought you had left. Everyone leaves.” Pete choked out, but he knew, deep within himself… No matter how bad things got, Patrick had never left without at least making sure he was comfortable and tucked in and warm and hydrated and… The dark haired guy sniffled, shaking his head as Patrick walked closer.

 

“I can do it myself, it’ll make things easier. You should just leave and.. Yeah. You promised me one night and you upheld your side of the bargain so…”

 

“It’s still night.” Patrick responded, his voice cold, but his eyes soft as he pointed at the window. He cleaned Pete up, checking closely for any lasting wounds he may have inflicted, but there were none, so he pressed the glass to Pete’s lips gently.

 

When the boy was done drinking, there were no words left to be said. Patrick climbed onto the bed and held him close, Pete simply melting into his arms, boneless, crying his pain out into his chest as the blond ran his fingers into his hair.

 

Hours later, when words were relevant again, Patrick said softly “I didn’t mean it, you know. You’re not impossible. You’re complicated, but you’re not impossible. I’m willing to try again, if that’s what you want. And again. And again. No one’s ever made me feel like you do.”

 

“I love you.” Was all Pete responded, like a mantra. He had woven himself around Patrick, as if letting go would lead to the apocalypse… And maybe it would.

 

Leaving Pete had been scarily easy and Patrick had done it recklessly, but coming back was just as easy.

 


End file.
